


if i may just take your breath away

by pasdexcuses



Category: A Discovery of Witches (TV)
Genre: F/M, Oral Sex, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-27
Updated: 2019-01-27
Packaged: 2019-10-17 17:23:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17564798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pasdexcuses/pseuds/pasdexcuses
Summary: Maybe it’s the late hour, or the wine, or the fact that she’s thought about Matthew’s lips on hers so many times that she can almost feel them, like a ghost her mind conjured up. Maybe it’s everything, all mixed together and bubbling in her stomach, causing her to blurt out, “What would happen if we kissed?”





	if i may just take your breath away

**Author's Note:**

> A collection of missing scenes, sequential and leading to smut, because why not :)
> 
>  **Disclaimer:** The characters in this story not belong to me, and no money is being made from this work. Title taken from The Neighbourhood's "Sweater Weather."

“So,” Diana says, smacking her lips together and tasting the last of her wine. 

Matthew’s eyes follow her mouth, tracking the movement for a second. “It’s getting late,” he says.

She smiles. “I thought vampires stayed up late.”

“Really?” he replies, amused. “And what else have you heard about vampires, Dr. Bishop?”

“Oh,” Diana answers, shrugging, “so many things, it’s hard to recount them all.”

“Maybe we’ll have time for it,” Matthew tells her, pulling back his chair. “Some other time.”

Maybe it’s the late hour, or the wine, or the fact that she’s thought about Matthew’s lips on hers so many times that she can almost feel them, like a ghost her mind conjured up. Maybe it’s everything, all mixed together and bubbling in her stomach, causing her to blurt out, “What would happen if we kissed?”

He pauses on his way to the door. He doesn’t look back when he replies, “Nothing good.”

 

Diana picks up a book at random from Matthew’s shelf. “‘To my dearest friend,’” she reads the inscription on the first page, “‘Love, Mary S.’” Flipping through the unauthored pages, she mumbles, “Mary S.?”

“A friend,” Matthew explains. “You would’ve liked her, I think. She was very much interested in alchemy for a time, too.”

“Alchemy?” Diana repeats, trying to figure out who— “Are you telling me this Mary S. is Mary Shelly?”

Grinning, Matthew says, “What can I say? The 1800s were an incredible time to be alive.”

She turns to the manuscript in her hand before considering the rest of the books on the shelf. Replacing Mary S.’ volume, she muses, “You know, this place could give the Bodleian a run for its money.”

“You’re welcome here any time.” 

She feels his eyes following her as she goes to pick up her glass of wine. “Is that why you invited me back?” she asks. “To have a look through your books?”

Matthew shrugs. “I had an inkling you might want to escape Oxford.”

“And you thought you might help?” Diana presses. “Out of the kindness of your soul?”

“My soul?” he parrots, raising his brow.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” she replies, feigning concern. “I didn’t think that rumor about you guys having no souls was real.”

“Well, it depends on who you ask.”

He’s teasing, and Diana knows it. Yet, something about this sits uneasy with her. Something about the way he looks at her, when she catches him and he pulls away. It makes her want to tell him that she _knows_ , she knows he has a soul. How could he not?

“I don’t need to ask anyone,” she says. 

“You don’t?”

Diana shakes her head. “I already know that you do.”

 

It’s pouring when Matthew parks his car outside an old inn, somewhere in the middle of France. They get soaked through in the space it takes them to walk from the parking lot to the front door. Exhausted to the bones and freezing, Diana doesn’t pay much attention to the conversation that goes on between Matthew and the clerk at the front desk.

It occurs to her maybe she should have as soon as she opens the door to their room and all that’s there is a matrimonial bed with a table and a couple of chairs by the window.

“It’s okay,” Matthew says, trailing behind her. He smiles apologetically. “I’m not feeling very sleepy today anyway.”

She nods. It’s a conversation they can have after they’ve changed into dry clothes. 

She’s rummaging through her bag when he asks, “Tea?” His eyes are soft when he looks at her.

“Please,” she replies, before ducking into the bathroom with a change of clothes.

When she comes out, Matthew has already brewed two steaming cups and placed them on the table next to the window. 

“Thank you,” Diana says, taking her warm cup before sitting opposite from him. 

She sighs and closes her eyes. The images of her dead parents —the crime scene, the blood everywhere, their dead eyes— still flash across her mind, leaving her cold in their wake. She tightens the grip on her cup.

“Are you okay?” Matthew asks.

Diana watches the rain pour outside the window. She’s tempted to say yes. She doesn’t want to talk about it. She doesn’t want to relive the feelings, the sick, gagging sensation she felt when she realized what she was holding in her hands. And yet.

Emily has always insisted on never bottling up one’s feelings. They bubble up, she always says. They always bubble up. 

“I never knew the details,” Diana says, taking a deep breath. “I knew they’d been killed, but— I’d never seen pictures, and my aunt was the one who identified the bodies, when the police came.”

Matthew starts to say, “Peter Knox is a—” but Diana definitely does not want to discuss Peter Knox.

“This isn’t about him,” she tells him. She looks back at their room and the bed in the middle and sighs. “Are you sure you don’t want some sleep?”

“No,” he replies. “You go on and rest now, I’ll see if I can find something to eat for when you wake up.”

A part of Diana wants to protest. She can go find something to eat for herself when she wakes up later. There’s no need for Matthew to go through the trouble. 

The other part of her is too tired to argue. Too tired to think or move or do anything beyond getting herself under the covers.

 

Diana wakes up with a start. Placing a hand over her heart, she wills it to calm down. But she can’t. She closes her eyes and she sees the dirt and the blood. Her parents’ faces. Their empty eyes.

“Diana?” Matthew calls from somewhere in the shadows. 

“It’s—” she’s about to say ‘nothing,’ but stops herself. 

“Your parents?” he guesses.

“Yeah. I—I can’t stop seeing their faces.” She tries to calm down, to put into words what this feels like. “It’s not that they are dead,” she says. “They are, and I made peace with this a long time ago. It’s more that… I think about them, and all I can see is their faces in those photos.”

Matthew is silent for a while. Then he is crossing the room and sitting at the foot of the bed, his eyes soft. “Why don’t you tell me a story about them?”

“What?”

He shrugs. “A story, to pass the time, to think about something else.”

“To remember something else, you mean,” Diana clarifies, seeing through his attempt at psychology. 

“It’s worth a try,” he says.

“I guess it couldn’t hurt,” she agrees. She thinks about it for a moment, watching the blue in Matthew’s eyes flicker under the storm outside. It’s the thunder that brings back the memory of the fantasies she used to tell herself. “When I was five, I was determined to become a pirate,” she says eventually.

This makes Matthew laugh. “Why a pirate?”

Diana tries her best not to blush as she rememberes her backyard adventures in search for lost treasure. “It was the history inherent to the idea which first drew my attention.”

He gives her a disbelieving look. 

“Okay, fine,” she confessed. “I had a slight obsession with _Treasure Island_ , and my parents saw no harm in indulging me. Maybe a little too much.”

At age five, Diana had spent the better part of three months finding hidden treasures in the most random of places, either because her parents secretly hid them there, or because she simply made them up. It was all part of a larger quest, that ended with an impressive new bookshelf full stories on pirates and the Age of Sail. It also ended with Diana having to give up her pirate costume, which she had insisted on wearing for the better part of three months.

Matthew listens, smiling at her, his hand resting on her leg, unobtrusive, but firmly there.

 

The following morning, there is an odd disconnect between the words coming out of the clerk’s mouth and the wide grin on her face as she informs them the storm last night left a mudslide a few kilometers away. The only road in and out of this place is closed until further notice. 

“Sorry,” she says with an unmistakeable hint of joy in her voice.

Sighing, Matthew asks her in French, “I don’t suppose our room will be available for another night?”

“Absolutely!” she replies, startling half the patrons smiling around the front desk with her enthusiasm. “I’ll book you two lovebirds for another night, no problem.”

Later, over breakfast at the inn restaurant, Diana says, “I suppose it could be worse.” She spreads a tick layer of jam on her toast. “The food here is delicious.”

“And they have a rather good selection of wine,” Matthew agrees conspirationally, winking at her.

“Of course you’ve already checked out their wine cellar.”

 

It turns out, Matthew was not exaggerating about that wine cellar. The first bottle they order is so smooth, Diana hardly notices them drinking the entire thing.

“Another?” she asks, her cheeks already a little warm. 

Head tilted, Matthew gives her an amused look before saying, “Are you sure?”

She doesn’t reply. Instead, she walks to the bar and points to the first bottle that calls her attention. Her French is rusty, but the bartender understands her, and she returns to their table with a brand new red and two glasses. 

She presents the bottle to Matthew with a flourish, giggles when he raises a single eyebrow at her. 

“Nice selection, Dr. Bishop,” he says, pouring himself a glass and tasting it. “South of France.”

Diana rolls her eyes. “Well, even I know where Bordeaux is,” she tells him, pointing at the label. Glass in hand, she takes the seat next to him, bumping her knee against his.

“Diana,” Matthew starts. 

But Diana is not having this, not right now. Not when they are in the middle of nowhere, France. Not when their only kiss was a barely-there brush of their lips a few days ago. Not when she wants so much more.

“How about,” she suggests, inching a little closer so she can lower her voice, “instead of wondering about the bad, we ask ourselves what we really want?”

“What a revolutionary thought,” he replies, body angled toward her.

Nodding, she says, “Ask me what I want.”

It makes Matthew huff out a laugh. He shakes his head, but there’s already an indulgent smile on his lips. “Diana Bishop,” he says in mock solemnity, “what do you want?”

She holds her gaze steady on his. “I want to press you against me,” she answers, brushing up to him so their legs are pressed together, from knee to hip. “I want to press you against me so hard that you seep into me, so that you crawl under my skin. Then I want you to kiss me,” she says, tracing his lower lip. “Kiss me until I can’t breathe, and then some more so that tomorrow I may feel the ghost of your mouth against my lips.” She smiles a little wider, taking his hand in hers. “I want you to hold me,” she whispers. “Hold me all over so that tomorrow I can still smell you on me.”

“Diana,” Matthew starts, and he’s never sounded like this before, breath ragged. Like it’s taking all his self-control to stay where he is. 

“I want you in me,” she says steadily. “I want you on top of me, under me, all over me.”

He stares at her for a moment, searching her face. Then his hand is at the back of her neck, and he’s kissing her. Kissing her so hard she starts panting into it, and she knows she’ll never be kissed like this again by anyone else. She’ll never sink into someone else so freely, so certain this is where she’s meant to be. 

“Tell me,” Diana starts, still so close to him that her lips brush against his face, “what do you want?”

“The things you ask,” Matthew replies, the corners of his mouth ticking up.

She looks up at him and grins. “I promise not to be scandalized.”

He doesn’t answer so much as kiss her again, and again some more.

 

When Matthew closes the door behind them, Diana is there, pushing him against it. He wraps his arms around her waist, holds her there for another kiss.

“What do you want?” he asks again, brushing the side of her face with his lips. 

“You already know what I want,” she says. 

“You haven’t changed your mind?”

“No. Not about anything I said downstairs.” She pauses, remembering how he never answered her question. “What do you want?”

“Come here,” he says instead, reeling her in even closer. He holds her tight as he lifts her off the ground, just enough to carry her to the bed.

Then he tugs at the hem of her sweater, asking without words if he can pull it up and off. She nods, arms over her head to make it easier. When she’s in nothing but her underwear and jeans, she tries to mirror him: tugging without asking, untucking his shirt. But he stops her before she gets too far, fingers circling around her wrist.

“Not now,” he says softly. 

“But—”

“Another time,” he promises, ducking his head so it’s fitted in the crook of her neck. “Right now,” he says, voice muffled against her skin, “I want to taste you.”

Diana feels her pulse jump in her throat. But even as her breath stutters, she knows. _Anything_ , she thinks and arches her neck. She’d give him anything. 

Matthew stares at her for a moment, pupils blown in the dim light, his fingertips ghosting along the edge of her neck. Then his hand is moving down her chest, past her navel and in between her legs. “I had,” he says, smirking against her flushed cheek, “a different taste in mind.”

He unbuttons her jeans, giving her a moment. When she doesn’t stop him, he unzips her, sliding down the pants until they’re around her ankles and off. She tracks each and every one of his movements as he climbs up the bed. His eyes look almost wild, almost out of control. She imagines, for a second, his sharp teeth on her. Her pulse races with something other than fear. It’s her desire running through her, like blood in her veins. 

His mouth is on her, now. His mouth on her chest, his mouth down her belly and his mouth over the underwear on her hips. Matthew noses the skin of her inner thighs, a hand on her ankle to guide her, to let him have better access at her. 

Diana feels him inhale, and she knows he must smell the wetness her cotton underwear is barely hiding. He kisses her there, too, a gentle brush that makes her shiver under his warm breath. 

Her toes are already curling in anticipation, and, “God,” she mumbles, tangling her fingers in Matthew’s hair. 

“Diana,” he murmurs against her. He hooks his fingers over the edge of her underwear, dragging the elastic. He looks up at her through his dark lashes. “May I?” he asks.

Her breath catches when he looks at her like that, when he makes her blood rush white-hot in her veins. She doesn’t think she can trust her voice. So, she nods instead, lifting her hips so Matthew can slide the underwear easily off her legs. 

Then she’s naked, naked for him to see all of her and her heart is beating so loudly she can hear it in her own ears. He probably hears it, too. She wonders if that’s why he takes her hand in his, wonders if he already knows about this. How he can make her feel grounded with just the squeeze of his fingers around hers. 

“I,” Diana starts to say. But just as she tries to get the words out, Matthew grabs her by the ankle.

He lifts her leg up, taking a deep breath around her skin. “You are _intoxicating_ ,” he tells her like he’s confessing a secret. He presses an open-mouthed kiss on her calf, then a couple more up her inner thigh. Then he’s back in between her spread knees. 

Matthew runs his thumb against her first. Down and up her pussy so that it’s slippery when he rubs it around her clit. He does it once, twice and again, until Diana’s hips are rocking, pushing down to meet him, stroke for stroke. 

There’s a rhythm to their movements, a rhythm to Diana’s pants, and she thinks she could come like this. Except this is not what Matthew has in mind. She knows, because next he’s dipping his head to lick a wet line, from the base of her pussy and all the way up. 

She shivers and feels his grin against her. He holds her down first, right before rubbing his tongue against her again. He licks around and over her clit, once and slowly, so she can get used to it. Then over and over again, his tongue firm and wet and warm, so that she goes from shaky breaths to whines that die halfway in her throat, body heaving.

Diana squeezes her eyes shut when Matthew pushes even closer to her, to suck on her clit. Just the slightest hint of teeth against her, and then her skin is a blazing fire, all-consuming under the moans she can’t keep quiet. 

“Oh my—” she cries, her muscles taut, shaking. “Matthew,” she breathes, her fingers twisted in his hair.

She’s close now, edging toward the sweet abyss of release with every stroke of Matthew’s tongue on her clit. Every huffed breath of his, every pant, every lick, every sound —the sounds, Diana’s mind repeats to her, the slurps like she’s a drink he doesn’t want to end. She’s so close, so fucking close. 

“Matthew,” she pants, and it’s almost a sob as her back arches, her orgasm hitting her hard.

Her legs are still trembling as she comes back down, feeling warm all over. But it isn’t until she opens her eyes to grin down at Matthew that she sees. Her entire body is shining with a light of its own. A magic of its own that feels natural and easy and—

“Your magic,” Matthew says, enthralled by the sudden light in the room.

“I’ve never,” Diana starts, blinking at her own, shimmering skin. “This—this is a first.”

The mattress shifts under Matthew’s weight as he makes his way up the bed. “Well,” he says, the corners of his mouth pulling upward mischievously, “I shall take that as a compliment.”

Diana can’t help it as she throws her head back with laughter. “Come here,” she says, and Matthew goes easily to meet her lips. 

Somewhere in the back of her mind, she realizes this is what she tastes like—this sweetness and tanginess on his tongue, this is all her. Mostly though, she’s thinking about Matthew and the way he feels now, hard against her hip. She moves so he’s all the way on top of her, so she can wrap her legs around his waist.

“Remember what I want?” she asks. 

Matthew huffs a laugh into the crook of her neck. Then he props himself on his elbows, a hand of her cheek. “You’ll be the death of me, Diana.”

She kisses him again, soft and reassuring. “Never,” she promises.


End file.
